


Illustre Stelle Viam.

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar



Series: Ferte in Noctem. [2]
Category: FFXV - Fandom, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Mild Gore, Other, noctis is like ten so this is probably Kind Of, this isn't much it's just more bg, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar
Summary: The story of the slaughter, of the scar on Noctis' back, and one very wise shadow guardian's attempt at following through with an order.





	

**Author's Note:**

> some more shadow au background, yahoo  
> noctis is small and everything is sad

Chaos.

That’s the only way to describe the state of the castle, and the state of Insomnia itself. There’s screaming coming from every corner, orders being shouted from every direction, metal clashing and boot scraping. Bodies and blood litter the floor, slicking the marble corridors and making them near impossible to run on.

Men in sleek, black armor with muskets and blades run back and forth through the halls, and prince Noctis pushes himself further into the corner he’s managed to squeeze into. Tears fall freely down his cheeks, and each gunshot and footfall makes him start violently. He tries to keep his ears covered, his eyes squeezed shut, but nothing can drown out the sounds and smells death brings.

He’d been separated from Ignis, and from his father. Noctis can still see his father’s face etched on the insides of his eyelids, afraid and not looking at him, but at Ignis. He can still hear his voice, hear the panic and desperation in it when he’d said _take Noctis far from here_ , and it makes the tears fall quicker and harder. Noct works to stifle his sobs, biting his lips and trying to cover his mouth with small hands, though it hardly serves to muffle much.

Ignis had tried. They’d run, they’d hidden and they’d waited while Noctis clung to him with both arms around his neck, hands fisted in the fabric of his guard’s light armor. They’d run into soldiers, _so many soldiers_ , and the scream Noct had let out when they raised their rifles to put the both of them between crosshairs could’ve been deafening. Noctis remembers a hand coming up to the back of his head to hold him firm, and then plunging feet first into the depths of the blackened marble below them, and then...

Coming up for air gasping, in a forgotten hallway that laid decimated.

Ignis was gone, and his only company was that of the bodies that lay cold on the floor. His hands and knees soaked in the blood of the deceased, Noctis sobbed, pushing himself into the corner beside a crumbled statue.

Still, Ignis is nowhere to be found, not that Noctis has the energy or the bravery to go searching for him. He can only stay where he is, balled up in a corner and soaked in blood turning tacky. Each sound of footsteps makes him pull the hood of his jacket further over his head, trying to blend into the shadow as if he didn’t exist.

At this point, he wishes he didn’t.

Noctis can’t focus on anything besides his fear, can’t focus on anything besides the panic upon realizing that he’s alone. That fear that festers within is only amplified when a sudden dark, tall, and unfriendly shadow encases him entirely; What little light there had been is extinguished, and Noctis hardly breathes. When he looks up, he is not met with the soft smile of his father or the comforting eyes of Ignis, but rather something much more hideous. A soldier, and not one of his family’s own. Sleek, chrome armor dulled by blood moves with them as they raise their pistol, and pull the hammer back near mechanically.

The clicks in succession sends Noctis into a sudden blind panic, skittering to dart between the soldier’s legs just before the trigger is pulled. Noctis can hear the sound of the marble shattering behind him, can almost _hear_ the sound of that bullet narrowly missing his head. He moves quickly, but the blood on the floor is so thick and _wet_ that he doesn’t go as fast as he’d like.

There’s a tearing, searing pain from his hip to his shoulder, and Noctis falls from the force of it.

He falls hard onto his front, unable to hold his hands out in front of him in time. He can feel the torn flesh of his back, and he chokes on his own gasps and sobs. His cheek is pressed to the cold floor, and he struggles to draw in breath between the whines and whimpers he lets out involuntarily. Noctis is sure his back is quite literally aflame, the warm wet liquid drenching his back being the gasoline keeping it burning. He strains to turn his head as footsteps once again approach, and he’s met with the same pistol aimed clean between his eyes.

Noctis can see his own death in the barrel of that gun. He can see his death, he can see his life from beginning to the end, he can see wasted moments and moments well spent. He can see the portrait of his mother smiling warmly, he can see Ignis across from him over a checkers board. He can see his father at the other end of the dining table. He can see Luna, Prompto, and Gladio outside in the courtyard.

Noctis closes his eyes, tears still falling, but the sound of the gunshot never comes.

Instead, there’s a choked gasp, and it isn’t from himself. There’s wet coughing, spluttering, and the sound of metal grating against metal. The disgusting crack of bones being spread by the twist of a blade is loud, and something is being poured onto the last dry spaces of the floor. Metal crumbles, the soldier falls into a heap, and a figure stands tall in their stead.

“Highness…?”

The voice is quiet and sad, but so _painfully_ familiar. Noctis can’t do much but lay where he is, taking in violent breaths like an injured deer. His cheek is wet with blood, much like the rest of him, and he winces as he’s moved gently onto his side. He can feel himself being scanned, and when Noctis tries to focus on whoever’s got their hands on him, it doesn’t register. Not immediately. Weakly, he pushes at their hands, sniffling and coughing.

There’s soft hushing, and a hand running through his hair. Then, and only then, does Noctis cease his struggling.

“Ignis,” Noctis sniffs weakly, “You came back.”

“Of _course_ I came back,” Ignis’ voice seems breathy and broken as he seems to struggle with holding the small prince. He sounds so sad, Noctis thinks, and it makes him just as sad. “Highness-- Oh, Highness…”

Noctis reaches to grasp at Ignis’ armor, at any available folds of fabric, and Ignis is quick to take both small hands in one of his own. “I’ll make this right,” he says, and Noctis doesn’t quite understand what he means. “I swear to you. I will make this right.”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @scientiasins i love dying and being fucking dead


End file.
